Anthology Plan

I have selected my theme to be " The Tea Sipper's Journey". I have chosen this "tea sipper's journey" theme to help all women to remember that "excellent" cup of tea when, they stopped the busyness of their hectic lives and woke up the stillness inside themselves. That stillness is the part of all humanity that needs a nudge. When we stop and pour that first cup, all women know instinctively that she can create that stillness and take in all she desires. In that moment I hope she chooses great literature from around the world. Not just the simple poem that pleases us all , but all who dare to write the words of their hearts and bare their souls. I believe this journey, to open ourselves up to literature, is a choice for people to make. But especially for the women of this world, who so desperately need these moments of awakenning.

I hope this particular set of poems and excerpt's can awaken a part of you , you might have left behind. Possibly you might even find solace in these pieces of great literature women have even risked their lives for. I know the reader's of this particular anthology can find the mysteries of their hearts and souls, as I have. This is not exclusive to females but men have been selected because they crossed the lines of gender. That in itself is a mystery. From Anna Akmatova to Ani Di Franco, there is something there for all to take in and breathe deep.

As you journey I hope this writing has proven itself tried and true. Deep, mysterious and lovely as all people are. As you sip these powerful words of tradegy, hope and incredible strength finds you comforted. In all these words whether a poem or an excerpt, you find all that makes us humans and frail. These words can transcend all conditions of our lives and take you to new highs and perhaps even lows. Tho, not alone. You will come to love these words as I have. With a warm cup of tea and peace. One sip at a time.

Instead of a preface

Anna Akhmatova born in 1889, under Soviet rule, suffered many imprisonments of her son Lev that the Stalin government encouraged, due to her writings. Her writings were confiscated and her friends had even testified against Anna. Anna is one of my favorite writers and she will be posted more then once here. Not a soul writes about the "pain " of watching everyday hourlessly,mercilessly, and patiently waiting for families to come from beyond those walls, as well as Anna Akhmatova. I begin with Anna's courage , to give you the courage to write what you really see. Called "half nun,half harlot" by the government she was also heavily censored and for her son's release wrote for the Stalin governement , to no avail. She later asked that these writing's be removed.

In the awful days of the Yezhovschina I passed seventeen months in the outer waiting line of the prison visitors of Leningrad. Once, somebody "identified " me there. Then a woman, standing behind me in the line, which of course, never heard my name, waked up from the torpor, typical for us all there, and asked me , whispering in my ear ( all spoke only in a whisper there)
" And can you describe this?"
And I answered:
"Yes, I can."
Then the weak similarity glided over that, what had once been her face.
April 1, 1957; Leningrad
http://http//www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/akhmatova/akhmatova_ind.html

After reading this for my first time I believe that Maya belongs in this second position...freedom...We all begin our journey and find there are rocks and stones. Maya Angelou is my bird of freedom and air. Maya Angelou is a woman of many talents including awards for acting, directing and the arts as a whole. She has even travelled and worked in the Middle East. Her voice is like no other I have heard with ...empowerment. For all. We rise!
http://http//www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/maya_angelou/biography



Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you 'beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I got oil wells,
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Do you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders bowing down like teardrops.
Weakenned by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I got gold mines
Diggin' my own backyard
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still , like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past thats rooted in pain
I rise
Im a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak thats wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestor's gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

Walt Whitman

There are so many words of Walt Whitman and I can say so many. But I shall keep this brief. He did not see as other men do. He did not breathe as other men do. He was made for a day and age, so ahead of time but perfectly arranged. At first glance I thought him to be " heady , full of himself" then I took another gander and found the beauty of humanity. I cant believe this man published his own leaflets and shared them so boldly. I am happy Walt Whitman was born to show me no judgement in another. We are equal. We are alive!...gratitude.

Song of Myself

Walk Whitman

The Norton Anthology of American Literature

Verse 21

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,

The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,

The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride,

We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,

I show that size is only development

Have you outscript the rest? Are you the president?

It is a trifle, they will more then arrive there every one, and still pass on.

Ani Di Franco

There are many poems and many songs,but this is my favorite song for every girl who ever lived, breathed and said it proudly. Ani has created her own label ( Righteous Babe) and never sold out once in her career. Her guitar work is like no other. Shes hard, brash and downright vulnerable for all to hear. She is hugely successful undergrond. She likes it that way and I feel this is her best. For all who have been turned away and got back up....It should be said that when we raise form the ash we should have many supporters..Ani sang it for me and you hopefully.

http://http//www.bing.com/music/songs/search?q=ani+di+franco+lyrics+for+thirty+two+flavors&FORM=DTPMUA&qpvt=ani+di+franco+lyrics+for+thirty+two+flavors

Thirty Two Flavors

Ani Di Franco

Squint your eyes and look closer

I'm not between you and your ambition

I am a poster girl with no poster

I am thirty- two flavors and then some

and I'm beyond your peripheal vision

So you might wanna turn your head

Cause someday your going to get hungry

and eat most of the words you just said

Both my parents have taught me about good will

and I have done well by their names

Just the kindness I've lavished on strangers

is more then I can explain

There are many who have turned out their porch lights

so I would think they were not home

and hid in the dark of their windows

til I passed and left them alone

God help you if you are an ugly girl

course too pretty is also your doom

Cause everyone harbors a secret hatred

For the prettiest girl in the room

And god help you if you are a phoenix

And you dare to rise up from the ash

A thousand eyes will smolder in jealousy

While you are just flying past

I'm not trying to give my life meaning

by demeaning you

And I would like to state for the record

I did everything that I could do

I'm not saying that I am a saint

I just dont want to live that way

No, I will never be a saint

but I will always say

Squint your eyes and look closer

Im not between you and your ambition

Im a poster girl with no poster

I am thirty- two flavors and then some

and Im beyond your peripherel vision

So you might want to turn you head

Cause someday you might find your starving

and eating all the words you just said

Mother Teresa

When Katrina hit many summers ago, I wanted to go. I was a selfish hairdresser that never volunteered for anything , but the south called to me. Katrina moved me in a way that cant be described. I wanted to hand out water but instead when I arrived two days later , I was given the only make shift hospital. I hate nursing but proved I could be a pretty great one. Laura Bush came to Biloxi, Mississippi that summer and I remember stinking so bad and she looked like an angel and smelled like one too.
Mother Teresa was a woman who gave her life to the church and I am not a religious person but when I needed the courage to go face Katrina that summer this is the quote that got me there, kept me there and got me home , safe.

Quote

Mother Teresa

http://http//www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/m/mother_teresa.html

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to eachother"

My Prospective thus far......

Today I see a common thread happenning in my blog posts. The women and men I have selected have views that are strong, clear and sensitive. Though they are from different times in history, they seem to be saying the same words. Rising above and having their identities challenged. They all are saying they have a voice and it should be somewhere in history. All of the writer's whether poems or songs, have a strong voice. The flow is better than I expected. Though, the selections are in wrong order, I can feel the flow. I wanted variety and Im glad it is there for me. I hope my audience can clearly see this. The metaphors are not as hard to understand as I anticipated and im happy about this. There is a solid sensitive voice here and that is also my goal. I feel that Akhmatova is a good strong beginning. Leningrad was a huge awakenning to me, and I feel this is a good place to begin , though, its quite heavy. To ask someone to read with an open mind is too difficult for me so I began with a heavy tone. Sorrow is also present and I feel all women and men have sorrow. Specifically, I wanted women to approach this piece with the reassurance they could survive anything in life, together. At least leave with an understanding of a sense of togetherness. The men in this piece have respect and I will not put in any pieces of anger from men. This is definately a place of peace in knowing we are not alone and that theme to me , is wonderful. The sadness is there also and im happy about that because we can never understand if we dont open up to that sadness. The truth is inside these pieces also but if you are not open to the idea of truth? well...then you are without it.

"Woman and Family: The Dust Bowl"

http://http//www.english.illinois.edu/maps/depression/dustbowl.htm

I had the honor of seeing this beautiful picture of a woman and her children last semester and my English teacher discussed this picture in class, I was forever changed. I had never seen this picture my life. The great depression affected many.Her pain, desperation and despair are so apparent and I felt this belonged in my war section. Too completely different periods of time, though somehow similiar. I say "beautiful" because I am selfish I did not realize what other women have suffered and endured. Her face says it all. I can feel the dirt and griminess. I am thirsty. I am hungry, seeing her sitting there contemplating, her situation in the "Dust Bowl"

As John Steinbeck wrote in his 1939 novel The Grapes of Wrath: "And then the dispossessed were drawn west- from Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico; from Nevada and Arkansas, families, tribes, dusted out, tractored out. Car-loads, caravans, homeless and hungry; twenty thousand and fifty thousand and a hundred thousand and two hundred thousand. They streamed over the mountains, hungry and restless - restless as ants, scurrying to find work to do - to lift, to push, to pull, to pick, to cut - anything, any burden to bear, for food. The kids are hungry. We got no place to live. Like ants scurrying for work, for food, and most of all for land."

http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/depression/dustbowl.htmhttp://

Life At War

There is a method to this madness! This is a picture of Kim Phuc specifically, who wrote a beautiful book about this moment and many others. But, as I read Denise Levertov, I felt it described this particular picture more deeply. I will return to Kim's words however as I feel, she has something to say also. Im trying to mesh two peoples sensitivities....But in actuality ...There are no WORDS!

http://http//www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=181968

Life at War

by Denise Levertov

The disasters numb within us

caught in the chest, rolling

in the brain like pebbles. The feeling

resembles lumps of raw dough

weighing down a child’s stomach on baking day.

Or Rilke said it, ‘My heart. . .

Could I say of it, it overflows

with bitterness . . . but no, as though

its contents were simply balled into

formless lumps, thus

do I carry it about.’

The same war

continues.

We have breathed the grits of it in, all our lives,

our lungs are pocked with it,

the mucous membrane of our dreams

coated with it, the imagination

filmed over with the gray filth of it:

the knowledge that humankind,

delicate Man, whose flesh

responds to a caress, whose eyes

are flowers that perceive the stars,

whose music excels the music of birds,

whose laughter matches the laughter of dogs,

whose understanding manifests designs

fairer than the spider’s most intricate web,

still turns without surprise, with mere regret

to the scheduled breaking open of breasts whose milk

runs out over the entrails of still-alive babies,

transformation of witnessing eyes to pulp-fragments,

implosion of skinned penises into carcass-gulleys.

We are the humans, men who can make;

whose language imagines mercy,

lovingkindness we have believed one another

mirrored forms of a God we felt as good—

who do these acts, who convince ourselves

it is necessary; these acts are done

to our own flesh; burned human flesh

is smelling in Vietnam as I write.

Yes, this is the knowledge that jostles for space

in our bodies along with all we

go on knowing of joy, of love;

our nerve filaments twitch with its presence

day and night,

nothing we say has not the husky phlegm of it in the saying,

nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness,

the deep intelligence living at peace would have.

Spoken by an acclaimed actress, Miss Fontenelle

A woman born in the 1700's who was considered charming and cultured. Performing at the Theatre Royal Louisa gave this address.She died of yellow fever in 1799. This address was acknowledged and loved. I feel the journey leads us to womens rights. This personally speaks to womens rights and the boldness that existed, long ago. http://http//www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/robert_burns/poems/5013 An Occasional Address. Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, November 26, 1792. Written By Robert Burns.

When Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, 5 The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the Sexes’ intermix’d connection, One sacred Right of Woman is, protection.— The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, 10 Sunk on the earth, defac’d its lovely form, Unless your shelter ward th’ impending storm. Our second Right—but needless here is caution, To keep that right inviolate’s the fashion; Each man of sense has it so full before him, 15 He’d die before he’d wrong it—’tis decorum.— There was, indeed, in far less polish’d days, A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways, Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, Nay even thus invade a Lady’s quiet. 20 Now, thank our stars! those Gothic times are fled; Now, well-bred men—and you are all well-bred— Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 25 That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest; Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration, Most humbly own—’tis dear, dear admiration! In that blest sphere alone we live and move; There taste that life of life—immortal love. 30 Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs; ’Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares, When awful Beauty joins with all her charms— Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 35 With bloody armaments and revolutions; Let Majesty your first attention summon, Ah! ça ira! THE MAJESTY OF WOMAN!

"What do women want?"

This poem seemed perfect for this particular place. Kim Addonizio lives in San Francisco and has many writings. I believe she says what we all wanted to say but could not. Perhaps, many women dont feel this way at all. BUT after 25 years of doing hair for women , I heard this poem over and over, Kim finally said it!

http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/725http://

"What Do Women Want?"

by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what's underneath. I want to walk down the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. I want to walk like I'm the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment from its hanger like I'm choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I'll wear it like bones, like skin, it'll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.